


Blest

by puny



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sibling Incest, platonic romance?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puny/pseuds/puny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the summer stretches out docile and lovely, and so do they.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blest

1.

In the end, she's taller than him. 

They measure themselves on their sixteenth birthdays. A full inch and a half above him, even with her hair brushed slick and flat, even with her heels flush against the ground and his spine straining to reach the line on the doorjamb. She giggles and he looks at the sprays of freckles that dot the slopes under her eyes. She blows out her half of the cake candles exactly five minutes before he blows out his, and somewhere in the time between she gives him the strangest conspiratorial look through the dissipating smoke and he feels it right down to his viscera. 

2.

They go back to the Mystery Shack that summer. 

Mabel puts on his vest and a pair of his cargo shorts for a joke. She's lankier than he his, and for all his laughter he still notices the knobble of her knees and the light under one of her clavicles. Going to sleep that night feels good, back in that comforting eerieness. Neither of them remembered how much they missed the little symphony that was the Shack's version of a bedtime story: unnerving groans of wood and plaster, chittering noises that aren't quite rodent and aren't quite insect, whispering wind on perfectly still nights. 

3.

The next morning he pries up a floorboard and flips through the musty pages of the Book. 

That afternoon she holds it hostage and takes off into the forest. He sprints after her, watching the neon angora of her sweater catch on broken-off branch tips. They nearly get eaten by what she calls “A BEARABBIT, Dipper! A BEARABBIT!”

4.

They get popsicles. 

Summer kicks into gear a full month too early, and the syrup-thick heat is unbearable enough that Stan thrusts a fistful of dollar bills at them and bids them fetch “anything COLD, chrissakes” from the corner store. Mabel perches on the handlebars while Dipper labors against the pedals. The convenience joint glows in the blue-dark 105º heat like florescent gates to heaven. She hops off and skips inside, doorbell jingling, as he pants and half-leans, half-collapses against the wall. She emerges with double handfuls of raspberry icepops and before he can even reach for one she's pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead and kissing him. She hums “How Much Is That Little Doggy In The Window” the entire way back and he's so preoccupied with the way she tasted like raspberry flavoring and Red Lake #40 that he doesn't even complain about having to pedal. 

5.

It is raining buckets. 

That's not a euphemism, there's steel pails clattering down from the greyed-out sky. Stan takes one look outside and goes back to bed; Mabel and Dipper do the same. They push their cots together and have an armpit-fart competition. It's a tie, but he beats her fair and square at the ensuing thumb-wrestling competition, and loses fair and square at the tongue-wrestling competition that ensues after that. 

6.

“Do you know what this is?” 

She's propped up on an elbow and using fingers to wrangle snarled knots out of her thick hair. “Uh,” Dipper says, “a situation that calls for a comb?” She looks at him with huge eyes. “Yeah, I know you meant us,” he mutters. “We're not boyfriend and girlf- girlfriend, uh, definitely, right?” 

“Yeah.” She gives up on her hair, rolls onto her back, and he can hear her grin. “Definitely not.” 

7.

He realizes he has muscles.

Not substantial ones, not by a long shot. But still, he figures all that running away from bizarro monsters and climbing trees and whatnot made a difference, because when he stretches right he can actually see the faint outlines of his obliques, can make out a lump of deltoid. Mabel must've noticed. That night, she peels the covers off his bed. He almost chokes. She doesn't kiss him, just flips him over onto his side and crawls in: the big spoon. She runs hands up his chest and down around his hips, hands that he knows end in fingernails bright with chipped candy-colored polish. Recently de-braced teeth nip his shoulder and the nape of his neck as she pushes his boxers down, hands curling calmly. A triangle of moonlight from the window stretches across the wall as his spine arches and he goes to bits in her arms. 

8\. 

They leave. 

The last suitcases have been thrown in the trunk. Stray socks have been cleared out from under the cots. The Book has been tucked back into its hiding cranny beneath the jiggly floorboard. They look over the attic one more time, triangular window gazing across at them. Mabel reaches for his hand. 

“Hey, cheer up.” She winks, big and fake. “We'll be back next summer.”

**Author's Note:**

> welp   
> that was regrettable


End file.
